Fifth Heaven
by Fidelis Haven
Summary: 1: Ginny has plans for Bonfire Night, and ropes Hermione in to help. Professors Snape and McGonagall form an unlikely alliance in order to get as far away from the madness as they can. HGGW, SSMM, LLOFC


**Disclaimer:** Um, none of these are mine. I'm just playing with what JKR gave us – and making everybody gay in the process. They like it that way.

**Acknowledgments:** Started AGES ago, for Faith, cause the poor girl didn't get Bonfire Night over in Australia. Um, it's not meant to be taken _too_ seriously. Or indeed seriously at all. It's evil fluff, dammit! Eevil! With gratuitous Diana Wynne Jones & Arthur Ransome references. Title is that of an Emma Shapplin song. Only going to be about three parts, as well, so. Onwards!

****

**Fifth Heaven**

_Chapter One_

Hermione Granger had had many ideas in her time, many plans to revolutionize wizarding society and perhaps improve the relations between pureblood and muggle-born witches and wizards in the process. Unfortunately, Ginny thought, not all of her ideas were especially, well. Bright. Noble it may have been, but nobody, the house-elves included, particularly appreciated the S.P.E.W. campaign. Ginny had signed the petition out of pity and a genuine desire to shut Hermione up for a bit – she got the impression that Harry and Ron had done likewise.

The inter-house friendship league, presumably designed to ensure the spirit of Dumbledore's Army lived on, had also been – in the words of Hermione, the only registered member – a little bit disappointing. The most notable failure had been, naturally, Slytherin House. Hermione had done her best, she told Ginny, but Pansy Parkinson hadn't seemed to appreciate her attempt to befriend her at all. Nor, she added, rubbing her jaw tenderly, had Millicent Bulstrode, who'd apparently taken great umbrage at the fact that she'd dared to smile at Pansy.

Ginny tried, really tried, but couldn't help giggling. "She probably thought you were coming on to her," she pointed out.

Hermione looked blank.

"She's _very fond _of Pansy," Ginny explained. "And Pansy's _very fond_ of her."

Hermione looked blank. And then the penny dropped. "Oh! Oh well, really, I don't think…well, honestly, all I did was smile at her! It wasn't exactly the most seductive of smiles, either, there was no need for Millicent to get all haughty. And my jaw still hurts – stop laughing."

"Sorry," Ginny said meekly. "The thought of you chatting up Pansy Parkinson _is_ going to provide me with much amusement for quite some time, though."

Hermione glared at her, in what Ginny liked to think was a friendly, affectionate fashion. "How do _you_ know what Pansy and Millicent get up to, anyway?" she demanded. "And I wasn't chatting her up, I was trying to be polite and socially responsible."

Ginny snorted in feigned disbelief. "I have Potions with Blaise Zabini's little sister," she pointed out. "She's very talkative."

The older girl looked at her proudly. "Oh, Ginny, well done! You've made friends with a Slytherin? See, I'll tell Harry and Ron, it IS possible if we try –"

"No, I'm not _friends_ with her," Ginny said, looking mildly embarrassed. "I've only spoken to her the once, and even then all I said was 'pass that spider, I want to dismember it.' And she tried to put it down my shirt, the _bitch_, I'm sure she was copping a feel at the same time - but anyway, I can hear her talking away to her friends behind me, very loudly, all the time. And I like eavesdropping. Anyway, Pansy and Millicent are together, an item, a couple, whatever you want to call it – and as you know, Millicent's very protective."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh, how lovely – a lesbian relationship accepted not only in Hogwarts, but within Slytherin! See, they _can_ be tolerant and open-minded –"

" – and very probably afraid of Millicent's fists," Ginny reminded her. "It's probably best if you don't piss off any more psychopaths – anyway, I've got a much better idea for you."

"Idea?" Hermione asked, her chain of thought broken somewhat. "What idea? What for?"

"It's November," Ginny said, smugly. "More importantly, it's November the Fifth soon."

She didn't need to say any more than that. "Of _course!_ Bonfire Night! Yes – they might all very well fall asleep during my S.P.E.W. speeches, or thump me in the jaw when I'm only trying to be friendly, but nobody can ignore _fireworks. _Just think, Ginny! The whole school united in celebrating a Muggle event! It's a brilliant idea!"

"Yeah, I know," Ginny said modestly. "But more importantly, we could skip off to the pub whilst nobody's looking."

Hermione frowned. "I _really_ don't think that's a very good idea. Besides, the boys would want to come as well, and I don't think it's safe for Harry to be wandering around Hogsmeade after dark at the minute."

"The boys weren't invited," the redhead pointed out. "And if you pinch Harry's Invisibility Cloak – no, don't glare at me like that, I know he's got one – they won't notice us going, either. Besides, I'm sick of Ron constantly following me around to make sure I'm not giving away my tender maidenhood to any nasty boys. And you must be pretty sick of him breathing down your neck as well," she added shrewdly. "Don't think I haven't seen the way he looks at you. It'll do you good to let your hair down with the girls for a bit."

"Girls? What girls? Ginny, who else have you been corrupting?" Hermione asked, choosing not to respond to her friend's comments. Instead, Ginny noted gleefully, she concentrated very carefully on her glass of water.

The Gryffindor Chaser smiled wickedly. "Luna said something about her _girlfriend_. Ruth. She's a genuine _Muggle, _by the way, thinks Luna goes to some School for the Gifted.You'll get to watch all those lovely social barriers being broken down, glass ceilings being shattered and all that – _if_ you come with us."

Hermione practically choked on her drink. "What – you can't bring a Muggle into Hogsmeade! And how on earth are we all going to get out? And honestly, Ginny, how many people have you been discussing this with?"

"Oh, only you and Luna," Ginny said sweetly. "I think it'll be nice. Fun. Think of it as promoting a bit of unity between the houses. Even if it's only Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, we all have to start somewhere, and the pub's as good a place as any."

"But it's _wrong. _I shouldn't be encouraging illegal late night drinking amongst the fifth years!"

"Hermione. Please. You're just nervous about meeting a real life lesbian Muggle, aren't you? It's all right, you _can_ admit it – but I'd never have thought it of you. For all your high and noble ideals, you're just another one of those 'not in my back yard' types, aren't you? I'm sure Luna won't be _too _hurt, but you know what prejudice is like … how it can really upset someone…but it's okay, Luna's only a Ravenclaw, what does she matter?"

"Ginny, that is NOT the point."

"Or perhaps," Ginny continued inexorably, "you're just worried in case this all hits too close to home. After all, if people catch you in the company of a few sexual _deviants_, they might start thinking _you're_ one as well … they might start asking questions about why you're always hanging round with the boys….about why your only boyfriend lived on the other side of the world … was it so you didn't have to touch him? And perhaps that's just too near the bone for you…I'm not judging, though. Just be honest!"

"GINNY! Stop it!"

"Or perhaps you're just too plain boring for all of this. Dull old Hermione will marry dull old Ron and have ten extremely dull children and then die in a surprisingly interesting freak accident in the library, involving all the shelves of books, the domino effect and a very squashed you."

"I'm _not_ boring, and I'm _not_ going to marry Ron," Hermione said sternly. "And Ron's not boring either," she added as an afterthought, looking guilty.

"A-ha!" Ginny said triumphantly. "Well, if he's the reason you don't want to come and have fun with us, you could have just said … perhaps you're planning to ask him out on Bonfire Night, then? All those sparklers, the romance in the air…the poetry…aww, it'll be so cute. And so vomit inducing, honestly, can't you just forget you're a prefect for once and come to the pub? Live dangerously!" she finished, imploringly. "I'll buy you a drink."

Hermione scowled. "If I say no, you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

Ginny grinned delightedly. "But you're going to say yes, aren't you?"

Hermione's scowl deepened. "Possibly. You'll only make a complete mess of things if I'm not there to keep an eye on you. Incidentally, how on earth do you plan to get all this approved by Dumbledore – the fireworks and bonfire, I mean? I'm presuming you'll get the fireworks from the twins –"

"Hermione," the redhead said soothingly, "stop worrying. It's all going to be very simple, I promise you!"

"You know, you're just as bad as the _boys._"

"Oh, no," Ginny said, looking vaguely demonic, "I'm much, much worse."

----

Severus Snape closed his eyes, and wished with all his heart he was in his room. Alone. Except for that bottle of amazingly disgusting vodka that some _amazingly_ optimistic student had left on his desk last Christmas. He hadn't found the energy or the willpower to throw it away, but he'd taken intense pleasure in failing the little wench when he finally opened it to discover it tasted of – well, of what could only be described as horse piss. It _certainly_ wasn't good enough to excuse the little pink ribbon that had been tied around the neck, that was for sure. At that precise point in time, however, a shot or seven would be very, very welcome.

"Just to clarify, Albus," he said, almost too tired to be scathing about the whole situation, "you want to give the students permission to carry out this ridiculous ritual. Why?"

Albus beamed at him – or rather, all of them – delightedly. "Why, because I think it's a wonderful idea of Miss Weasley's!"

Weasley. He wasn't surprised. The whole thing had Weasley written all over it. He hadn't expected it to be _that_ Weasley, mind you, but it didn't matter. He made a mental note to give her a particularly vile detention next time he got the chance.

"And Miss Granger's been most educational," Albus added, and Severus made a mental note to partner _her_ with Millicent Bulstrode next Potions lesson. "I think it'd be really beneficial if we brought all the students together, even for just one night, to celebrate this old Muggle custom. Everybody likes fireworks, after all."

"_I_ don't," Severus said.

"You don't like _anything_, Severus," Albus continued calmly. "But we love you nonetheless."

"Truly, madly, deeply," Minerva interjected, her lips twitching suspiciously. "From the bottom of our hearts."

"But anyway," the Headmaster said swiftly, overriding Severus' snarl and the insult that was on the tip of his _tongue_, damn it, and it had been a good one as well, "I've been in touch with Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and ordered rather a lot of their best fireworks – the school budget will cover it – and I think it'd be rather nice to have a bonfire as well. Go the whole hog, so to speak."

"You do know the brats are talking about burning Fudge's effigy, don't you?" the Potions master snapped. "What kind of impression do you think that'll give people?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Glad to see they're getting so involved with it all," he said, "although I do think that we ought to stick with the original Guy Fawkes at this point in time. Anyway, I've been jotting down a few ideas, and I think it's best if I put you, Severus, and you, Minerva, in charge of _discipline_ – I know how fond you both are of keeping things orderly, and Filius –"

Minerva coughed very loudly just as Severus began to protest. "If you think I'm giving up my evenings to oversee this complete waste of time – oh, all _right,_ Minerva, you can go first."

"Charmed," the Deputy Head said dryly, nodding at him, "age before beauty, and all that. The thing is, Albus – and you know I wouldn't say this unless I felt I had to – I'm afraid I'm entirely in agreement with Severus on this one."

The look of surprise in Albus' eyes, Severus thought, was absolutely priceless. Almost as good as the sense of downright _smugness_ he himself had at finally having been acknowledged Right About Something Before Disaster Struck.

"It's the fireworks," Minerva explained, with an uncharacteristically sheepish look on her face. "It's not that I don't _like_ them, as such, it's not even that I think letting off hundreds of them in front of an entire school full of troublesome, rowdy students is a _very bad idea_ – it's just that, well…"

"Yes?" the Headmaster prompted her, still looking puzzled.

"Well – what about the animals?"

"…the animals?"

"We've got hundreds of owls, a castle full of rats, toads, cats and Merlin knows what Hagrid's got lurking in his coat pockets – not to mention the Forest! How do you think they're going to react to all the noise?"

"Yes," Severus said swiftly, although he thought he knew what was _really_ bothering McGonagall. "The centaurs might riot. They've been threatening to for months. And then there are the unicorns – they might have heart attacks. They're very delicate creatures, after all. I think, considering how fragile our relations with these creatures are, we ought not to offend them. Who knows when we will need their help against the ever present threat of the Dark?" he asked dramatically.

Albus, alas, was decidedly not fooled by what had been, Severus thought, a very convincing speech. "Severus, I remember reading a certain student's essay that was brought to my attention back in the late seventies. Something about the author wanting the Ministry to give clever people the rights to experiment on any magical creature they so needed, wasn't it? Something about the author wanting the Ministry to 'bugger off out of my family's Potions laboratory and let us do what we WANT to the filthy bloody werewolves,' wasn't it?"

"I'm a reformed character," the Potions master said, glowering. "I've seen the error of my ways. I am simply trying to make amends for what _might_ have been misconstrued as hatred and contempt in my youth, feelings which I feel _sure_ could have been expressed in much healthier ways, despite being _perfectly justified_ –"

"Yes, anyway," McGonagall interrupted hastily, "we simply can't subject all the animals to a barrage of fireworks. Not the type the Weasleys make. It isn't fair. I'm surprised Miss Granger didn't mention this. She's usually such a responsible girl."

"Minerva, Minerva," Albus said soothingly. "I assure you, the necessary precautions will be taken. A few well-placed charms from Filius ought to see to the comfort and safety of the animals in both castle _and_ forest. There's really nothing at all to worry about!"

McGonagall looked very, very, dissatisfied.

"Anyway, I ought to be off now," the Headmaster said cheerfully, "need to inform the rest of staff about this – and perhaps compose a little speech for the actual event. Something about rejoicing in our unity amidst adversity, that kind of thing."

"Hurrah," Severus said bitterly, "bloody buggery hurrah. And God bless us, every one."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I knew you'd get into the swing of things eventually, dear boy," he beamed, and left the room quickly, before Severus could think of something _really_ cutting.

The Head of Gryffindor eyed the Head of Slytherin. Silently. He stared right back, for rather a long time. He was just about to get up and make his weary way back to his blissfully quiet bedroom, where nobody ever had to make unnecessary conversation, when McGonagall finally cracked.

"This is a _terrible_ idea."

"Tell _him_ that," he replied moodily. "With the truth, instead of a load of animal rights nonsense. Tell him that the fact of the matter is, you've spent so much of your life in cat form you'll probably end up pissing yourself in terror the minute the first ten Firecrackers explode."

McGonagall looked at him in fury. "I can't tell him that," she said tightly. "It's too embarrassing."

"My heart bleeds," he said unsympathetically. "Actually, no. No, it doesn't. Because after you've told him, he'll get someone else to do your job, and you'll get to swan about in the castle, free from all responsibility, having a nice relaxing _drink_ on your nice _evening off._"

The older witch's eyes flashed. "Well, why are _you_ so determined to get out of it, then?" she asked.

"I don't like frivolity," Severus retorted. "And I might have better things to do."

McGonagall looked unconvinced. "It wouldn't have anything to do with what Sirius Black tried to do to you with that Roman Candle, would it?"

The reply came through extremely gritted teeth. "No, it would _not_. And you can keep that to _yourself._"

"Because if it _did_," McGonagall answered, "you could simply say you're still suffering from that traumatic ordeal, and overseeing a big fireworks display would just bring back too much pain. You're worried you might cry in public. Go for the poor abused child angle, Severus, you know he won't be able to say no."

"I am _not_ mentioning that …_incident …_to anyone. I don't know how _you_ heard all about it, but you can forget it ever crossed your mind."

"Too embarrassing for you?" McGonagall said tartly. "My heart bleeds. Which means we'll just have to think of some other way to get out of it. Now, I've done a lot of research into my condition," she continued, before he could protest her including him in whatever she wanted, "and unfortunately, apart from being dead, in a coma, or under the influence of various illegal substances, there's only one possible way I could walk around the grounds with all those fireworks going off and remain unaffected."

"And that is?" he asked, mostly because he had the feeling she wasn't going to let him leave without hearing her ridiculous plan out. He didn't really _care_, of course, because he had his own ridiculous yet highly excellent plan, but the sooner he was out of here, the sooner he could finish off that disgusting bottle.

"To get absolutely blind drunk," she said, resignedly.

He blinked. It sounded as though McGonagall thought there was some _flaw_ in that plan. "An admirable idea," he admitted, trying to sound as though it hadn't been the first – and so far, only – thing he'd thought of.

"But I _can't_," she hissed. "Not in front of all the students!"

Ah, it was only some misguided ideal of professionalism that was holding her back. "Oh, of course you can," he said, encouragingly. "It's really not as hard as you might think. Just make sure to scowl at everybody within a ten mile radius, so that they learn to run as soon as they see you coming, start blasting students in your way so that they're too busy jumping out of the way to notice the _slight_ unsteadiness in your step – which can also be disguised by an extremely aggressive walk – I'm not speaking from experience, though," he added lamely, as he noticed that she was staring at him in disbelief. "I'm merely speculating."

"Severus, you … _lush_," McGonagall said in mingled horror and admiration. "Have you been permanently _drunk_ for the past sixteen years?"

"No," he snapped. "At present, I'm just hung-over. And don't you _dare_ breathe a word of this to Dumbledore, or I'll make sure he knows just how drunk _you_ are at the fireworks display."

McGonagall frowned. "I could just mention your little firework problem, you know."

"Alas, Black and Potter are both dead," Severus said, relishing as ever the sound of that sentence. "And Lupin won't say anything to corroborate your story, or he'll wake up to find his intestines have been removed and replaced with nice _silver_ ones."

Silence.

"Nevertheless," the Potions master continued, "I don't see why we need to resort to cheap threats. You drink, I drink, we _never _mention this conversation ever again – it's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

McGonagall sighed. "It would be perfect, except for one thing. You've never actually seen me drunk, have you?"

He thought about it. "Now you come to mention it, no. I've never actually seen you drinking in public, either," he realized, "is _that_ what it is? You're worried you might get a little _too_ drunk?"

"I haven't been drunk in public since Christmas Eve, 1943," McGonagall said, steadfastly avoiding his eyes. "Obviously I have had a little tipple on the side _since_ then. On my own, naturally. It's just far, far too dangerous for me to risk drinking in public on Bonfire Night. There's simply no way. It's not possible."

"Why?" he asked, intrigued. "What happens?"

"It has some unwanted side effects," she said, still not meeting his eyes. "I might become a little … too much of an extrovert. I might become a little _too_ familiar, if you understand me."

"I'm not sure I do," Severus said, blandly.

"Oh, for pity's sake! Fine – I'll try and _jump_ the first person I come across! Alcohol turns me into a raging _nymphomaniac!_ There is absolutely no way I can risk that on Bonfire Night, and as far as I can see, absolutely no way I can get out of it! It's humiliation all round! Severus, I need your help"

He was about to mock her thoroughly and be on his way, when he thought of something. It _could_ be quite entertaining. Definitely immoral, but that wasn't really an issue. It wasn't as if he was exactly fending off the advances of an adoring throng of women, for one thing, and besides, if he was going to do her a favour, he deserved one in return. "Oh, all _right_, McGonagall. I'll think of something."

Unfortunately, McGonagall knew him too well to be taken in by his feigned helpfulness. "And what is it you want in return?" she asked, heavily. "Potter's Quidditch ban to be reintroduced, perhaps, or perhaps an oxygen-limit for all Gryffindors out of their common rooms..."

"Why, Minerva, nothing so drastic," he drawled. "You're just going to have to accompany _me_ on Bonfire Night instead. To the pub."

Her eyes went very wide indeed. "Severus – I'm almost thirty years your senior! Of course, I'm very flattered, but I really can't –"

"Don't be silly, you ridiculous woman," he said, with enough hauteur to reassure her, "that _wasn't_ what I'd intended, and quite frankly, if I had feelings, they'd be hurt by your obvious reluctance to believe that I might simply have our best interests at heart. I'm not a _monster_, you know."

She eyed him doubtfully, but he could see her wavering. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to spend the night in the castle. Alone. With all those _fireworks_," he added, and knew it wouldn't be long before she came round to his way of thinking. McGonagall managed to cope with him well enough during working hours; when faced with the possibility of firework related humiliation, he felt sure that she'd find it within her to cope with him propping up the bar for a few hours. It wasn't, Severus thought smugly, as though she had any real choice.


End file.
